


Tales from the Diner

by Avalon1632



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game), The Booth at the End
Genre: Diners, Food, Hella Jukebox Tunes, Intrigue, Mystery, What are you buying? (#HowWeirdWasThatGuyInResidentEvil?)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 05:16:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14610198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avalon1632/pseuds/Avalon1632
Summary: Do you want something you can't have? There's a man who can help. Just go to the booth at the end of the Diner, and he'll make you a deal. Do the task he gives you, or don't, it's up to you, but you will get what you desire. All he asks is that you tell him the details. Be wary though, things might not be what they seem, and sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for.





	Tales from the Diner

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter I: Your Heart's Desire... - Life is Strange  
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
> AN:  
> Hey there, Fan-fic-folks!
> 
> This one is based on a brilliant lil' series called The Booth at the End. It's amazing. The entire thing is told in mise en scene. One set, a small 1950s style American diner, and a series of conversations taking place in it. That's it. Nothing ever takes place outside the diner, and nothing ever takes place apart from two to three people talking. And it is amazing. I'm planning on a 'series' with a 'season' for each fandom I decide I want, with a set of the characters taking the Man's deal, and how that goes. Whether the deal will be related to the plot of the fandom or not is yet to be decided. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, please review.
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a small seaside town, there is a diner. It has two whales atop it, neon-lit, gaudy things. In that diner, there is a booth, right there at the end, and in that booth, there is a Man. 

The Man is in possession of a certain Book, a book brimming with secrets only he is privy to. 

But one secret is known to others. The Man can make things happen. He'll say he can't, that it's all you, but the people who go to him claim to know better.

He makes things happen.

The things you want. 

There is a price, of course. You can't get, if you won't give. 

When you tell him about what you want, he'll give you a task. The tasks range, big and small, horrific and tame, but they're all he'll give. Do the task, get the reward. That's the deal. 

So.

How far will you go to get what you want?

\--

[Chloe]

A girl walks into the diner.

She's tall, lanky. Lithe, but not graceful. A whirl of long limbs and poor coordination. She stops in the doorway, pausing for just a second. Probably wondering whether or not she's going through with it. They all wonder that, about themselves. If they can really do whatever their task might ask of them. 

The Man wonders faintly if she will, watching without watching from his usual spot. He watches without watching as she takes another deep breath, and as the set of her shoulders goes firm. She reaches up and runs a hand through her short, electric-blue locks, pulling off the beanie as she suddenly starts moving into the diner. 

She gives no warnings for her actions, everything with the appearance of Chaos. Like lightning streaking across the sky in loud, glorious bursts of colour and sound. But the Man knows better. He watches her amble over, one hand in a pocket, the other clutching her beanie tightly, as if she were drowning and it was her one way out. 

Somewhat applicable, really.

There's some faint guitar-twang in the background of the diner. Nothing intrusive, just a light accompaniment to whatever meal these people are having that gently drifts through the room. It seems oddly appropriate for Chloe, despite her eye-catching appearance. Something about her, something beneath the swagger and bravado... it fits the music, a feeling of quiet moments shared, and lost, and a vain bitterness that just begs a simple, desperate "Why?" as she wanders across the diner right down towards the booth at the end.

She doesn't just sit normally. Oh no, not Chloe Price. It's one of the things he likes about her, as much as he could 'like' anything these days. She almost pirouettes into the seat, a broad swinging motion that is as wild and free as it is graceless. Every time, he wonders, how long will it be until she falls, or trips. 

He doesn't have long to wonder, as sharp eyes set on his. There's always been a shine to them, young and idealistic, but older than they should be. He knew from the moment she walked in that first visit to him that this was a girl frozen outside the flow of time, but still tainted by it. Moved, but unmoving. 

She sits in silence for a moment before breaking out in a grin, confident and unbreakable. "Hey Man. Still so cool I get to call you that and be totally right, by the way. How's it hanging?" 

The Man chuckles. "It's, uh, hanging well, Chloe. And how are you?" 

She shrugs, lets the pleasantry flow over her like air. "Pretty sweet. I think I'm getting somewhere with this task thing." There's a brief crack in the confidence, as her eyes suddenly widen, almost imperceptible. It's a view of the unsurity that she buries beneath bluster and bullshit, a brief flash of her true self that she hides from the world. "You did wanna hear the details and shit, right?" 

The Man nods, smiles almost mockingly. "The details are the most important part, Chloe."

"Right. Yeah. Okay, so I think I can get my hands on a gun. My step-douche has a bunch of them in the garage now." A dark look passes over her face for barely a second, and the Man tilts his head curiously. This was an unheard development, a new detail. "Step-douche?" He asks her, a small smirk in his tone at the crude nickname.

She snorts, the scorn she felt for the man evident in her voice. Very evident. After a quick glance over her shoulder towards the waitress, who was chatting amiably with another table, she elaborates. "Yeah. My Mom married this asshole. He's a fucking bully, and a gun-nut, hates everything about me, y'know. The usual asshole step-dad type of shit."

The Man notes something down in the Book. "He hates everything about you? How so?" 

She shrugs. "Thinks I'm, like, a failure or some shit, right? Like that fucker's got any right to talk. He's a fucking security guard at Blackwell, and it's not like I'm robbing banks." She grins. "Well. Not robbing banks yet, anyway." 

The Man chuckles once more at her enthusiasm. The girl certainly did have a charm to her. "Hopefully. Do you have a plan yet?" 

Chloe shakes her head. "Nah, dude. Gonna see what I can get first. Need to know what I've got before I try plan for anything, right?" 

The Man nods, writes something else in the Book. "That seems smart." He says, somehow both approving and non-committal at the same time. 

"Thanks. Yeah. I think I can actually do this." She nods to herself, a slight distant look in her eyes as she attempts to reassure herself. As they all do, when they realise they've made the decision to commit to the task. 

For the first time, the Man simply smiles. "That's good. It will help, in the time to come." 

She nods again, that distant look fading as she pulls herself back to the Diner, to the here and now, where her task remains uncomplete. "Yeah, probably. Cool. Uh, so..." She sits back, a specific slouch that gives all outward appearance of indolence and devil-may-care laissez-faire. "Is there, y'know, anything else?" 

The Man is quiet, flicks through the Book, studies. His lips curl as his finger stays on something in the Book. "No. That's all for now, Chloe. Come back, when you progress further with the task."

A final nod, and the girl waves before swinging back out of the booth and ambling away.

\--

[Mark]  
A man walks into the diner. 

He's tall, confident; he brims with the sort of confidence one gets when a room goes quiet as you enter it. He stops in the doorway and scans the diner, eyes flicking from face to face as he searches for whoever he happens to be looking for. 

His eyes narrow upon the Man in the booth at the end, and he strides over without hesitation.

The man sits like he walks, dominating the space and fully in control, and with no regard to how those around him look his way. The Man observes the newcomer quietly, raising an eyebrow when he sits across from him. "Can I help you?"

Quiet eyes look him over from behind black-rimmed glasses. "I hear they serve a great pastrami sandwich here."

The Man smiles. "Yes. How can I help you, Mark?" 

Mark mimics the smile, but it lacks the same... emotion. "I hear you can do things. That you can... make things happen."

The Man shakes his head. They always said that. Always! Why can't anybody ever get it right? "No. I create opportunities for others to do things." 

Mark snorts. "The person I talked to said you'd say that, but... I think it's bullshit. You probably just manipulate the circumstances for whatever it is that motivates you to do this. Pulling strings like some puppet master, letting us do the work for you." 

The Man looks down at his Book, the end of his pen running down it as his eyes flicker. "It's understandable that you'd think that. Not my problem, though." 

Mark scowls. "Fine. Say for the minute that I accept that you can do... whatever it is you say you can do. You give me a task, and I get what I want, right? That's how this works." 

"Indeed it is." The Man leans forward, folding the Book closed. "And what is it you want, Mark?" He smiles, half inviting, half goading. 

Mark simply sits back, lets his eyes drift out to the bay going past the window and the words drift out of him like autumn leaves. "I'm so tired of it all. The stink of people. Of their lies. The models I've worked with, they're all so... cynical. The world has tainted them, and I'm so tired of it. I want a model who still has that..." His eyes float back into the room as he mulls over his wording. "idealism. I want to capture purity." 

His lips quirk into a small smile as he eyes the Man, daring him to refuse, to prove him right. The Man simply says "That can happen." 

Mark laughs. "So you claim. And what do you want me to do for this?" 

The Man consults his Book, running his finger along unseen words as he suddenly nods with certainty. "I want you to find someone. A boy." 

Mark smirks, and drawls. "A specific one, or did you just wake up with a craving?" 

The Man overlooks the interruption. "A boy who fears the world." 

"You want me to find a scared kid?" Mark looks... puzzled now. As they all do, when they can't see the threads. They don't understand how the task and their desires are linked. But that's okay. That's not their part of the bargain. 

The Man's expression remains unchanged. "Yes. I want you to find this scared boy, and I want you to take his fears away." 

Mark's puzzled expression deepens further, and he leans forward and the Man knows that, no matter what he says after, he has him. "Take his fears away? How will that get me what I want? Will he be my model?"

The Man's lips curl into a satisfied smirk of his own. "That is for you to find out, and then come back and tell me about." 

Mark nods. "I heard that was part of this. So, you want me to tell you about how it goes?" 

The Man shrugs. "That's the deal. I need the details, Mark." 

Mark's mouth turns down as he lets himself lean backwards again, lets himself mull things over. "I still don't think I believe you." Mark thinks for a second, then "I need something. A token, proof that you can actually do something. That doing this will get me what I want." 

The Man simply shrugs. "Start. See what happens." 

\--

[Rachel]  
A girl walks into the diner. 

She's pretty, beautiful even. The room seems brighter as she walks by the tables, dropping a smile here, a few friendly words there. She has an almost bohemian effervescence to her, a feeling that this person walking by is bright and sunny and unlike anyone else you'll ever meet, but will one day vanish and leave your life darker, yet safer, for it. Like a flame, she's a light in the dark, but get too close and... well.

You will get burned.

As she sits, the Man meets her eyes, and his eyebrows bunch together in a pale imitation of polite confusion. It's an obvious pretence, but enigmatic all the same, hiding the truth behind layers of disinterest and interest and polite reservation. "Hello..? Can I help you?"

After a beat of quiet, she smirks, leaning back in her seat with a small shrug of her shoulders. "I don't know, can you?"

The Man's eyebrow raises. "I'm afraid I have-"

The girl rolls her eyes. "I hear the pastrami sandwich is really good here." She says, with an exasperated sigh. Her eyes flick up, and she gives the Man an unamused scowl. "You're no fun, you know that?"

The Man slides the Book onto the table. "So I've been told. Hello, Rachel."

"Hi. How're you?" All exasperation, all irritation , vanishes in an instant, replaced by a calm, quiet confidence. Rare, for one so young, but it fits her well. 

The jukebox changes song, and the familiar twang of an old country song, something one recognises from childhood yet cannot name, fills the diner. The waitress, bringing plates of food to a table, changes step, adding a little jaunt and twirl to her previously tired and habitual movements. 

The Man smiles. "I'm good. Been busy. Lots of work to do." He taps the book in front of him with the end of his pen. "And you?"

Rachel quirks her mouth in an easy, sardonic grin. It's definitely familiar to her, there's almost a sensation of... comfortable, favourite clothing to it. Like an old pair of shoes you don by habit moreso than preference. "Oh, I've been just fantastic. Really amazing, you know."

The Man's smile turns wry, finally amused. "Rachel, Rachel, Rachel... This only works if you tell the truth." He lays one hand on the Book. "The honest details are important."

The girl scoffs, tossing her head, sending her hair, along with the feather pendant in her ear, flying. "Yeah. My dad's fi... I mean, they said you'd say something like that." 

The Man leans back, clasping his hands together over the Book. He lets the slip slide, getting to business. He doesn't care why they come to him, what lead them to this booth at the end, only what happens once they do. "How can I help you?"

She leans back in her seat, and her grin transitions from sardonic to sarcastic as her tone goes mocking. "What makes you think you can do anything to help me?" She's more firelight than sunlight now, baring just a little of her soul to the Man. Just as they always do.

The Man shrugs simply. "You tell me."

Rachel lets out a snort of irritated amusement. "God, you really are like that, aren't you?"

The Man smiles, says nothing. Just waits.

After a second of silence, the indecision warring subtly with her desperation across the battlefield of her face, she chuckles. It's dark and bitter. "I'm so tired. Constantly having to be something to everyone, to... play the part I think they want..." She sighs, and it's darker than the chuckle.

The Man tilts his head curiously, like a perplexed puppy. It's more than he expected. 

She continues, not noticing his movements. "The good daughter, the good student, the good fucking party girl-" He thinks for a moment that she's forgotten he's there, but she glances up and meets his eye. "I just want someone to see me for... well. Me."

He stares at her, that same implacable stare, mulling over her words, letting them swirl through his head like a fine wine. After a few long, painful seconds that seem to last forever, he nods, just once. "That can happen."

Rachel sighs in relief, slumping in the booth as her hands reach up to rub over her face. When she looks up, the charming, sardonic mask is back in place. "So. Now what?"

The Man pulls the Book in front of him. "Now, we make a deal. I give you a task, you do the task, you get what you want."

Her eyes flicker over his face, and there's a flash of irritation when she gets nothing. The Man was simply there, no emotion, no judgement. "Okay..." Rachel says, unsure. "Can you tell me the task first, before I agree to anything?"

It's a holdover from her father, something born of a lifetime skirted by the legal profession, a childhood of paper-covered tables and tome-filled bookshelves. Lawyers do hate surprises. 

He nods, and slides the book open. 

Seconds pass with no words as the man hmms over whatever was contained within the bound pages beneath his eyes. His fingers runs gently across its surface, almost a caress, until he suddenly nods, tapping at something. "You must uncover a truth."

"What the hell does that mean?" Rachel's mouth drops open.

"Exactly as it sounds. Find something hidden, and reveal it." The Man says easily, like it's something simple and easy. The task itself is, but Rachel sees the complexity in its execution. As someone who hides in a cloud of roles, of masks, and lies, she knows the tangled web hidden things can weave all too well. 

But, like all the others, she takes his hand, and she makes a deal. 

The Man smiles.


End file.
